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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24056062">Beneficial for Kings</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_have_a_Mycroft_of_my_very_own/pseuds/I_have_a_Mycroft_of_my_very_own'>I_have_a_Mycroft_of_my_very_own</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Barduil if you squint and I mean really squint, Hurt Thranduil (Tolkien), I am studying cirminology and no medicine, I wrote most of this months ago, added an ending, so now you can have it, so you know, take everything with a grain of salt...</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 18:02:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,580</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24056062</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_have_a_Mycroft_of_my_very_own/pseuds/I_have_a_Mycroft_of_my_very_own</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>On a trip through Mirkwood, Estel meets someone entirely unexpected and gains a boon from simply being the man his mother and adoptive father raised him to be...</p><p>Or</p><p>In which, Estel finds and cares for an injured elf in the forest and doesn't realize exactly who it is he has saved.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>134</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Beneficial for Kings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/msgeekstyle/gifts">msgeekstyle</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So, I promised Marla I'd write this MONTHS ago... and I did, technically, I just never finished it... heh heh</p><p>This was written purely so Estel could give all of Legolas' secrets away regarding nearly dying almost every damn time he goes to Imladris...</p><p>Grease cake is pemmican, but raises the whole issue of calling it pemmican in a world that doesn't have Cree... which is sooooo picky of me, but alas, what can you do?</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Estel hadn’t planned to come to Mirkwood, his intentions had been to ride for Gondor, to see the city that would one day be his, but those nearest and dearest to him had other plans. His father had assured him that he could never know when it might come in handy to be on good terms with the King of Mirkwood. At which point Elladan had piped in to remind him that if he had King Thranduil’s permission to come and go from the forest as he pleased, his life would be significantly easier whenever he was in the vicinity.</p><p>Which is how he finds himself wondering along the Elven Road, careful to keep to the path and not wander off it for even a single moment. He feels the magic of the forest at play on his mind, enticing him to wander, but his father and brothers had stressed to him that it was important that he <em>never </em>stray from the path, unless accompanied by Mirkwood elves. Legolas had told him something similar when he was younger and the elf would tell him stories of his homeland. So, Estel squares his shoulders and pushes the foreign magic as far back into his mind as it will go.</p><p>He’s so focussed on staying on the path that he does not see the object lying on the path before him until he’s tripping over it and crashing to the floor with a grunt of surprise. He rolls to sit up and gasps in shock at the elven body crumpled on the road. He can already tell by the blue tinge to the elf’s skin and the blood pooled beneath them that this elf has long ago breathed their last. He turns, in search of what felled the elf and doesn’t have to look far, for there are orcish bodies scattered along the elf path, and further along, more elven bodies, too.</p><p><em>“The Elf Road is the only safe path through Mirkwood.”</em> His father’s voice sounds in his ears, it was something his father and brothers had told him countlessly, while also stressing that this was why it was so important not to stray. But apparently what they neglected to mention is that the Elven Road is the only safe path because the elves defend it with their very lives. Though, these elves aren’t dressed for war, they’re dressed for journey, armour light and appropriate for travelling, not the heavier armour he’d expect if one was going to be engaging in battle. Which probably means these elves were travelling on the Elf Path when they were attacked.</p><p>His thoughts heavy with the sadness of lost elven life, he pushes himself to his feet and trudges along the path, checking each of the elves for any signs of life and each time he finds none, he feels his heart ache just a little bit more. He’s been around elves his entire life and while he knows and understands that men die, it is always somehow sadder for him when elves die. Elves have no true expectation of death, they expect <em>life </em>and a continuing, unending abundance of it, unlike humans, who know that eventually death will be their due.</p><p>He continues to follow the Elven Road until he reaches the Enchanted River and finds where the elves made their final stand, arrayed in a half circle, their backs to the river, they’d stood their ground until the very last. Despite being outnumbered two to one, the elves appear to have taken down every foe that came at them, but such a victory comes at a price. The elves slew their foe but did not get to live to tell their tale. Still, he checks each elf for signs of life, sometimes rolling and kicking orcish bodies away to get to the elves beneath them. None survived.</p><p>He takes a sort of perverse pleasure in the knowledge that none of these slain elves are his friend, for he knows that Legolas is often out on the patrol, keeping his people safe. His friend will mourn his lost comrades, but Estel will not have to mourn <em>him </em>and that relief is bittersweet.</p><p>He knows he should bury the elves, that they should not be left here to rot, but to bury them he would have to leave the path and beyond that, he does not have the time. So, instead, he decides that he will continue on to the King’s Halls and he will tell the king what has befallen his people and let them handle it.</p><p>Mind made up, he turns, readying to stand and continue on his way, when something catches his eye and he freezes, trying to understand what has caught his attention. Two glowing green orbs stare at him through the leaves of a low hanging branch of a beech tree. His breath catches as he looks at the dead elves around him and then back to the eyes, understanding that despite all the carnage, someone managed to survive, and it is not Legolas, for his friend would have already made his presence known. He sucks in a breath, hides away whatever misgivings he might have about lingering, and holds his hands out in surrender.</p><p>“Mae govannen, I am called Aragorn, son of Arathorn. I am of the Dunadain, the Rangers in the North. I was raised in the House of Elrond and called Estel by his people, I learnt healing under his hand.” He explains, slowly inching forward. “If you are injured, I can help.”</p><p>The eyes narrow at him in contemplation, before slowly the branch lifts away, seemingly of its own accord, to reveal the elf who had been sheltering within its leaves and resting against its trunk. Estel notes the bloody, forest green cloak wrapped tightly around the elf, up to his neck, and held in place by a clenched hand, and the white sword lying on the earth beside them. The elf seems to hesitate for another moment, before unclenching their hand and letting their cloak fall open. Estel can’t quite help the gasp that is pulled from his lips at his first glimpse of the elf’s wound.</p><p>“I need to lie you down.” He says to the elf, slowly crawling closer, the elf gives a stiff nod and doesn’t resist when Estel slowly shifts them and lies them down on the earth. As he’s doing so, he catches sight of the elf’s other arm and frowns at the long cut along the elf’s forearm but determines the bigger wound to be more important. The elf has nearly been sliced in two, a gash cut diagonally across his middle from hip to shoulder.</p><p>He checks the wound for signs of poison, before deciding that it is better to be safer than sorry and that he’ll treat for it, anyway. He doesn’t have the hot water to brew an athelas tea, but for open wounds, the paste is the better healer, anyway, and he doesn’t have the time to clear the deadened skin away for stitches. So, he sets about pulling the torn and bloody tunic away from the wound, so he can clean it, assessing the true extent of the damage. The cut isn’t dangerously deep, but it’s long and has bled a lot, which would explain the unusual pallor of the elf’s skin.</p><p>“You’ll live.” He tells the elf, turning to fetch his mortar and pestle as well as the healing herbs and his water skin and beginning to make the paste that has become second nature to him ever since Halbarad and the other Rangers took it upon themselves to teach him their ways. The forest is suddenly alight with the smell of the crushed leaves, they always make him think of his ada’s garden and how he used to spend his time there playing with his brothers. He glances at the elf’s face, to see a small smile on the elf’s lips, so he assumes the smell of the leaves is bringing up pleasant memories for him, too. “Right, this is going to hurt.” He warns the elf, waiting for them to nod in understanding, before he begins to spread the paste over the wound, apologizing quietly as the elf jerks beneath him, his bloodied fingers scrambling against the grass on the forest floor.</p><p>When he is finished with the paste, he looks to the elf’s face and finds them breathing heavily, their eyes clenched tightly shut in pain, and he’s certain that whatever strength they had left is quickly disappearing. He considers his options and makes up his mind, turning to find the Miruvor tucked away in his pack, his father had refused to let him leave without it, and Elladan and Elrohir had both double checked that he had it before <em>they </em>let him leave.</p><p>“Let me help you sit up.” He says, getting no response from the elf. He’s going to need the elf sitting up soon, anyway, to wrap his wound, so he’s gentle in sitting him back up and propping him against the tree. “You need to drink this, mellon nin.” He murmurs, holding out the flask, but this does get a response as the elf opens his eyes to frown distrustfully at the flask. “Here, look, it’s Miruvor.” He explains, taking a few healthy sips of the drink himself to show that it’s not poisoned.</p><p>The elf watches him carefully, before giving a stiff nod and letting Estel hold the flask to his lips so he can have a few sips. Estel snorts when the elf’s eyes go wide and a sparkle seems to form in them as Estel pulls the flask back and corks it, tucking the bottle back into his pack. He starts pulling out bandages and begins the time consuming and careful process of bandaging the elf’s entire torso.</p><p>When he’s finished, he sits back to admire his handy work, fully aware that his father would probably have done a better job, but his father has been a renowned healer since long before the Fall of the Kings of Gondor, so he’s certain he shouldn’t hold it against himself. Then, he turns his attention to the elf’s arm, beginning the whole process all over again.</p><p>By the time the elf’s arm is pasted and bandaged, darkness has begun to fall and he looks around them, uncertain if it will be safe for them to stay here, but not sure there is anywhere else they can go that would be safer. The elf appears to have been dozing against the tree so Estel startles when he speaks for the first time.</p><p>“Hannon le, Estel.” The gentle voice says, and Estel looks quickly to the elf’s face, but finds the elf’s eyes still closed.</p><p>“You are welcome.” He assures the elf, packing away his things. “I am a healer by trade, and I think I’d be chased out of Imladris if my father and brothers learnt I’d turned away from someone in need.” He admits, before reaching up to rub subconsciously at the back of his head. “Besides, I can’t imagine the look on Legolas’ face if I showed up at his Father’s Halls to let him know I abandoned one of his kin in the forest to die.” He says, moving to sit beside the elf and rest his back against the tree, looking in sadness at the bodies of the elves who did not survive.</p><p>“You know Legolas?” the voice queries, hidden strength lurking beneath the words and Estel frowns at the elf.</p><p>“Of course. He stayed at Imladris in my youth, he was my archery tutor.” Estel answers, a little grin pulling at his lips. Before he thinks of how long it has been since he saw his friend and he looks at the elves who have fallen today in the defence of their forest and the smile slips away. “I haven’t seen him in a few years, I hope he is well.”</p><p>“I am <em>certain</em> he is well.” The elf replies tiredly and Estel turns to look at him.</p><p>“Sleep, mellon nin. I will keep watch.” He promises, then it takes everything he is not to yell in surprise when the branches around them begin to move, hiding them from sight of anyone on the Elven Road or in the clearing itself.</p><p>“The trees will protect us.” The elf explains with a gentle smile. “They will wake us if there is danger.”</p><p>“Right. Legolas used to do this with the trees near Imladris, I didn’t realize it was a gift of his people.” Estel murmurs, looking up at the tree above him, beside him the elf snorts.</p><p>“We are wood elves for a reason, Estel.” The elf answers and Estel grins, nodding his head.</p><p>“Yes, I’m suddenly very aware of that.” He replies, closing his eyes and letting himself relax. He will not let himself fall into a deep sleep, but if there is a chance that they can both rest, he is willing to take it.</p>
<hr/><p>“Wake, Estel.”</p><p>He stirs quickly at the sound, his hand moving immediately to the sword sheathed as his hip.</p><p>“What’s wrong?” he whispers, blinking and trying to see anything in the dark, but with the starlight only able to make out the faintest shadows, though when he looks at his companion, he notes there is a <em>very </em>faint glow about them, so faint he thinks it might be his eyes playing tricks. He turns away and quietly unsheathes his sword and notes the white sword, he’d ensured had stayed within reach of the elf the entire time he was healing him, has been drawn close to the elf’s good hand. </p><p>“There are orcs nearby, I believe they will pass us by, but it is best if we are both awake when they do.” The elf answers, before holding up his good hand for silence. Estel nods and quiets his breathing the way he had been taught.</p><p>Together, he and the elf sit in the darkness, sheltered and hidden by the tree, they watch the band of orcs sniffing around the clearing, before crossing over the Enchanted River and continuing on their way. Estel says nothing until the elf beside him relaxes.</p><p>“They are gone.” The elf advises, slumping heavily against the tree behind them, Estel frowns at him, but is unable to see anything, to determine if he is well.</p><p>“Why are the orcs so far north?” he queries, knowing that the orcs and spiders normally do not move north of the Mirkwood Mountains, and that when they do, they’ve viciously pushed back.</p><p>“They have been growing bolder. We’ve had increased visits from the Men of Dale these past few years, so the patrols that normally would guard this side of the forest have often been assigned to guard that side.” The elf replies, with a heavy sigh. “Of course, that’ll have to change now.”</p><p>“I didn’t realize relations between Dale and Mirkwood were so strong.” Estel exclaims in surprise, remembering all the stories he’d heard of King Thranduil’s dislike of Dwarves and Men, but then he’d also heard stories of Thranduil’s dislike of other elves, so perhaps the King was just picky.</p><p>“The King has become friends with King Bard of Dale.” The elf answers, sounding amused. “And King Bard acts as a go-between for us and Erebor.”</p><p>“Ah, I see.” Estel murmurs, nodding his head. That he can most definitely understand, the lesser of the two evils is the Men of Dale and Legolas also sang King Bard’s praises, so the man must be worth knowing. “Are there any more orcs about?”</p><p>“Not this side of the river.” The elf responds and Estel can hear the exhaustion seeping into their voice.</p><p>“Then sleep, mellon nin.” He commands, expecting the elf to complain, but instead the elf agrees easily and settles. Estel closes his eyes and lets himself go back to dozing, content with the knowledge that the forest will protect them.</p>
<hr/><p>Estel wakes in the early morning with a crick in his neck, he groans and begins to stretch out, scrambling out from under the branch, stumbling to his feet and wandering around the clearing to wake his body up. Tension fleeing from him with every little pop and crackle.</p><p>“That may be the most disturbing thing I have ever heard.” His new companion mutters, and he laughs.</p><p>“If I don’t stretch everything out, it hurts.” Estel argues, coming to kneel down at the elf’s side. “Let me check your wounds.”</p><p>“I am fine, Estel.” His new friend says and Estel groans throwing his head back in exasperation.</p><p>“Are all you Mirkwood elves like this? Legolas once told me he was fine even though I thought his entire arm might fall off.” Estel grumbles, shifting his friend to lay him flat on the ground and gently holding him there when they try to rise.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Oh, he was fine in the end.” Estel is quick to reassure, suddenly remembering that Legolas is the <em>prince </em>here, so of course it would be alarming to learn that he had been so badly injured. “Lie still.” He commands when the elf keeps trying to sit up.</p><p>“Tell me what happened to the Prince!” The elf demands, so Estel sighs.</p><p>“Fine, I’ll tell you the story if you will stay still and let me tend you.” He offers, waiting for the elf to stop struggling and give a reluctant nod. “Alright, so I was about fifteen at the time and Legolas begged adar to let him take me riding. He said it was time I started leaving the safety of Imladris to see the world.” He says, carefully, letting his mind drift away as he goes through the motions that he’s completed hundreds of times now. “Adar wasn’t really for it, but nana told him she’d take me out on her own if he didn’t let me go.”</p><p>“Are you telling me someone out maneuvered <em>Elrond?</em>” the elf inquires, sounding like he can’t quite believe it, Estel chuckles.</p><p>“Well, nana is still my nana, no one has greater claim to me than her. She could've been a queen, you know?” He points out with a grin. “Anyway, at that point, she hadn’t been a ranger for fifteen years, so Adar decided he didn’t want to have to worry about us both, so he agreed to let me go with Legolas.”</p><p>“Just on your own?”</p><p>“Oh, no, the twins were sent with us, too.” He assures, laughing at the look the elf sends him, since, apparently, he knows what mischief the twin sons of Elrond get up to. “Anyway, we set off from Imladris, only expecting to be gone for a few days. Everything was going great, until we were waylaid by bandits. Apparently, surrendering gracefully isn’t a thing that three elven lords are capable of, so I got to wait with the horses while my idiot brothers and Legolas fought the bandits.”</p><p>“Oh, no.” the elf mutters, causing Estel to grin happily.</p><p>“Oh, yes! So, they win, of course. But all three of them are now injured and while they’re all knowledgeable in the healing arts, none of them are now capable of actually tending to themselves or each other.” Estel answers, peeling off the dried paste and inspecting the wound, the elf hissing at the gentle poking and prodding. “Hmm, I don’t believe your wound has been poisoned, but the paste will leach the poison out, if you have.” He murmurs to the elf, before turning to start making a new batch of the paste.</p><p>“I’ve never seen this paste before.” The elf replies, looking at the mixture with curiosity, and Estel is suddenly reminded that athelas is the primary healing tool of the Rangers of the North and all but unknown for the elves. He’s never even seen his father use it, though, that might be because it doesn’t grow near Imladris.</p><p>“This is an Athelas Paste, there are other herbs mixed in, but the athelas is the main ingredient. It leaches the poison from the wound, encourages your natural healing, glues your insides back together, <em>temporarily</em>, and fights against any evil attempting to affect you.” He explains with a small smile. “Anyway, the story.” He says, when the elf looks like he’s going to ask further questions.</p><p>“Right, go on.”</p><p>“Right, so we’re stuck out in the open, all three of my travelling companions are injured, and at this point passed out. I managed to get all three of them onto their horses after making a crude tourniquet for Legolas’ arm, then I found a small set of caves for us to camp out in. The whole time I’m worried that the three of them are just going to bleed out and I’ll have to go home and tell Ada.” He explains, cleaning out the wound, before beginning to apply the paste, once more apologizing to the elf who can’t help but jerk beneath his hands. “So, I get them all down from their horses, into the cave and try to determine who is the most injured. Ada always taught me that severe bleeding takes precedence over breathing or breaks, so Legolas got my attention.”</p><p>“Of course.” The elf mutters and Estel can’t help but laugh.</p><p>“Right. So, there I am trying to stitch Legolas’ arm back together when he wakes up. He tells me he’s <em>fine, </em>and that I should be tending to my brothers. Of course, he might have been more believable if I wasn’t already worried that he was going to die.” He says, before again remembering that he’s talking to one of Legolas’ subjects and should probably not be mentioning that Legolas almost died in his care. “<em>Anyway</em>, Ada has these neat little threads for internal sutures, they dissolve safely within a few weeks, right? So, there I am trying to stitch the inside of Legolas’ arm back together, he’s bleeding all over me and busy trying to convince me to go and heal my brothers, who by this time have woken up and assured me that they’re not in any immediate danger of death.” He pauses and huffs, examining the paste work, before carefully helping the elf to sit back up against the tree.</p><p>“Then what happened?”</p><p>“Hmm? Oh, well I finally managed to get Legolas all stitched up and made sure he downed a blood replenishing potion as well as a pain potion. At this point, he’s still trying to convince me that he’s fine, even though he’s paler than I’ve ever seen him and his words are slurring together.” Estel answers, with a heavy sigh, pulling fresh bandages from his pack and beginning to wrap the elf’s torso again. “Finally convinced him to go to sleep, so I could go and tend to Elladan and Elrohir, who just have broken bones and a few non-lethal cuts and bruises. Between them they had one good arm and one good leg apiece, because of course they have to be stupidly identical even when injured.” He mutters, getting a little laugh from the elf. “We hung out in the little cave for a few days until Glorfindel found us, so Legolas had to put up with my fussing the entire time, and I had to put up with his paltry assurances that he was fine. I’m pretty sure he still has the scar, actually. Adar says Legolas was lucky I didn’t listen to him, or he would have lost the use of that arm.”</p><p>“I see.” The elf replies, with a frown, as Estel finishes wrapping the wound, and moves to take his arm instead, the elf pulls back for a just a moment, before offering his arm up. “Thank you for the care you have given our Prince, and for staying strong in the face of what I know is not an inconsiderable amount of will.” Estel laughs at the elf’s words and nods his head.</p><p>“Adar says stubbornness is a quality of the line of Elmo. Lord Celeborn is reported to be quite stubborn, too.” He admits, with a hum.</p><p>“You’re of Elmo’s line, too, you know?” the elf queries, frowning when Estel’s hands still.</p><p>“You know who I am?” He murmurs in shock, looking up to the elf’s face, the elf gives him a gentle, knowing smile.</p><p>“The line of Elros has long been welcome in Mirkwood, that was once the Greenwood.” The elf replies, humming softly. “I knew your father.” He admits, then he laughs and Estel isn’t sure he likes how bitter the sound is. “I knew most of your bloodline before their passing, all the way back to Nimloth and beyond.”</p><p>“How-“ Estel pauses, choking on the words he wants to ask that he knows are absolutely rude, that he’s been taught not to ask, <em>ever</em>, but for some reason he can’t seem to stop himself and the words tumble out before he realizes. “How old are you?”</p><p>“I am old. I saw my childhood in Doriath, during its best years.” The elf answers with a tired smile.</p><p>“Are you older than Lord Celeborn?” Estel queries, again unable to help himself, but he suddenly feels like a little child again in the face of this ancient elf. He feels like he’s just now discovering that time means something different for elves than to humans, even though he had this realization many years ago.</p><p>“No.” the elf answers with a laugh and a shake of their head. “Lord Celeborn often chased my sister and I around Doriath when we were little more than babies.” He admits and Estel’s eyes go wide. “You know Galadriel is older, don’t you?” Estel snorts at the question and rolls his eyes.</p><p>“Adar just always said she was ancient.”</p><p>“Hmm, I hope Galadriel never hears that. Elrond will never hear the end of it.” The elf mutters, causing Estel to laugh again.</p><p>“I do know how to keep a secret.” He points out, before frowning. “<em>Usually</em>.” Then he turns his attention back to the elf’s wrist, where he has peeled away the last of the hardened paste and able to assess the wound properly, now that he’s not concerned about scaring or startling the elf. He finds that his initial assessment the day before, that the bigger wound was the higher priority was correct, but only just. Had the cut bitten any deeper, the elf wouldn’t have been alive by the time Estel found them. “Didn’t you get very lucky?” He murmurs, considering the merits of stitching the wrist rather than using the paste, and ultimately dismissing it. He doesn’t have the correct materials for internal stitching and the paste will keep the elf from bleeding profusely, while facilitating whatever healing is possible, plus, he doesn’t want to be here longer than necessary and he can’t paste over the stitches to make them safer for travel.</p><p>“I don’t feel very lucky.” The elf answers and when Estel looks up, he finds the elf looking at his arm intently. “Why are you so concerned?”</p><p>“You are aware that two of the channels that carry blood from the heart run in your wrist?” he queries, waiting for a nod from the elf. “And you know what happens if one or both of them gets nicked?”</p><p>“But they are buried so deeply, it’s harder to cause that sort of damage.”</p><p>“Aye, but in your case, the wound was almost deep enough. I don’t have the materials or the time to tend it properly, so the paste will have to do for now. You need to keep this arm as immobile as you possibly can. I think I have a sling somewhere in my pack.” Estel explains, before turning to begin spreading the paste over the wound.</p><p>“I will not be missed at the King’s Halls for three weeks.” The elf points out, with concern suddenly shining in their eyes, where before there had been tiredness and amusement. “We cannot wait.”</p><p>“Then we won’t.” Estel answers, with a small shrug of his shoulders. “I’ve carried my brothers home to Adar more times than I can count. I’ll find a way to get you back to the King’s Halls.”</p><p>“I can walk!”</p><p>“You most certainly cannot!” Estel argues, shaking his head. “Ai, you wood elves are as bad as each other. ‘I’m fine, Estel.’ ‘Just let me bleed out over here, Estel, I swear it’s just a cut.’ ‘I’ll be fine in a moment, Estel, I just can’t breathe.’ ‘I can walk, Estel, honest, I’m just enjoying the feel of the earth beneath my entire body’.” He mutters, finishing up with the paste and starting to angrily bind the wound with fresh bandages. “I don’t know how adar puts up with this all the time.</p><p>“Fine.” The elf grumbles, sinking gracelessly back against the tree. “But you are <em>not</em> carrying me!”</p><p>“Yes, well, you might not have a choice in that.” Estel answers, looking up at the elf with a raised eyebrow, daring him to argue. He watches the fire that burns in the elf’s eyes and he grins, the smile pulling slowly at his lips. “Hold onto that anger, maybe you’ll survive to make it back.”</p><p>“You said I’d live!” The elf suddenly exclaims, the anger turning into something else, some deep abyss of terror and regret that almost steals Estel’s breath away, but he’s seen this in Legolas and his brother’s before and he’s quick to reassure.</p><p>“On foot, we have at least four days until we reach the King’s halls. If you were alone, in your current state, you’d take longer. If I were alone, I’d get there in maybe two days, one if it were urgent.” He explains, sighing and looking around them. “We have to make our way up to the Forest River, so we’ll have a source of clean water, most of mine is gone now. Then we have to cross either the Forest River or the Enchanted River to continue on our way. Legolas always warned me that I shouldn’t ever stray from the path unless I was with a Mirkwood Elf, so I’m just hoping that your presence will be enough, the path isn’t safe anymore.” He doesn’t understand the little smirk that forms on the elf’s face for a second, before it’s gone. But he doesn’t question it, either.</p><p>“Why do you think I will die?”</p><p>“If your wound becomes infected, there is only so much I can do for you out here in the wilderness. The paste will do a lot to keep your wounds sealed and clean, but my supply of athelas is not infinite. It was collected for <em>me.</em>” He explains, digging through his pack for the sling. “You’re already beginning to heal, as is the way of your people. But even you won’t be healed enough for it to matter if I run out of herbs and water.”</p><p>“The forest has herbs.” The elf offers, though they’re suddenly dejected in a way that Estel finds startling. “But we do have to go to the river.”</p><p>“Great.” Estel states, turning back to the elf and offering the sling. “No complaining and I promise I won’t carry you into the King’s Halls if you’re able to stand with assistance when we make it there.”</p><p>“Bargaining. Bribery.” The elf exclaims with a surprised little laugh.</p><p>“It works for Legolas and my brothers, I figure it’ll work for you, too.” Estel answers with a little shrug, before moving forward to put the sling on when the elf gives a small nod of his head.</p><p>“You’re not wrong. I accept your bribery.” The elf mutters, glaring down at his arm held in the sling. Slowly, he looks up at Estel, something considering in his eyes and Estel holds his breath on an instinct he doesn’t understand. “You may call me Bereglass.” Estel nods, understanding that the elf will not give him his true name, but that’s not unexpected, some elves are cautious that way. “When are we leaving?”</p><p>“After we’ve eaten.” Estel answers, digging through his pack for his provisions. “It’s grease cake, so don’t except to like it.” He warns the elf, handing the elf a bar of the survival snack. The elf frowns at it, turning the snack this way and that and sniffing it, his frown deepening.</p><p>“What is it?” he asks, looking at Estel, who just laughs and takes a bite out of his own bar.</p><p>“Grease cake.” Estel repeats, before taking pity on the elf. “Dried meat, animal fat, and berries. It’ll last at least a year, it’s a staple among the Rangers of the North.” Bereglass stares at him for an exceedingly long moment before taking a small bite of the cake.</p><p>“Hmm.”</p><p>Estel laughs and shakes his head, taking another bite. “Might not taste like much, but you won’t starve.”</p><p>“Hmm.”</p>
<hr/><p>“Careful of the spiders.” Bereglass mutters, leaning heavily against a tree trunk after they’ve been walking for what Estel is certain is at least half a day.</p><p>“I thought the spiders were forced back to the South?” Estel asks, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.</p><p>“As with the orcs, they have been free to encroach, an oversight that’ll have to be corrected.” Bereglass murmurs, his eyes slipping closed. Estel frowns and crosses to his side, reaching out to grab the elf’s arm, he doesn’t expect the elf’s eyes to fly open as he leaps back from him with a pained cry.</p><p>“It’s just me.” Estel sooths, his hands up in surrender. “I was just checking your arm.” Bereglass sinks back against the tree trunk and gasps in pained breathes, before wordlessly holding out his arm. Estel considers the sweat on the elf’s brow and the blood soaked into the bandages on the elf’s wrist and hums. “We’ll stop here for a bit. We can rest a little and I’ll redress your wounds. Then we can push on.”</p><p>“I can keep going.” Bereglass argues, but he doesn’t move and Estel just sighs.</p><p>“We’re resting here. Then we will move on.” He states again, coaxing the elf to sit down against the tree, so he can start tending to his wounds. Bereglass is reluctant but compliant, which Estel is grateful for.</p><p>He’s careful and efficient with his work, and they’re ready to go within an hour. He risks another sip of the Miruvor and hands over more of the grease cake before they start walking again.</p>
<hr/><p>Bereglass ensures they do not go wandering into any of the spider’s nests, though they do stray close every now and then. Come nightfall, they reach the Forest River. Estel considers the very real threat the close by spider nests pose to them and decides their only option is to cross the river.</p><p>“Estel, we cannot.” Bereglass argues, looking at the river and shaking his head. “It is not safe.”</p><p>“It’s safer than staying here and waiting for the spiders, Bereglass!” Estel argues, dropping a stick into the water and walking alongside it, proving the water is not running too quickly for them to cross. “Once we’re across, we can set up camp.” Bereglass glares at him and then down at the river before sighing heavily and nodding his head.</p><p>“Fine.”</p><p>Bereglass goes first, carefully sinking down into the water, Estel watching closely, ready to enact a daring rescue should it be needed, but the elf, even reluctant, is steady on his feet and the current is not quite strong enough to bring him along with it, so Bereglass reaches the other side without issue. Estel is quick to follow.</p><p>Once he’s across and divested of his pack, he’s swift to get a fire going, shucking out of his wet clothing and letting them dry by the fire, then he helps Bereglass free of his sodden clothes as well, until they’re both sitting in their under things shivering by the fire.</p><p>Estel hands Bereglass more grease cake to eat while he tends to the elf’s wounds. He’d been collecting useful herbs along their walk but he still has yet to find athelas, but his supply will last long enough for him to go looking in the morning.</p><p>The wounds aren’t infected and, thankfully, the paste has kept the river water from getting in. But the walk and crossing the river has stolen a lot of Bereglass’ energy, Estel can see it in the slump of his shoulders and hear it in the elf’s laboured breathing. He doubts they’ll be going very far come the morrow.</p><p>“So?” Bereglass asks, quietly nibbling at the grease cake while Estel works.</p><p>“No infection.” He confirms, after treating both wounds. He sets up the stand over the fire to place a pot to boil water and sets about eating his own grease cake while he waits. Bereglass watches him from half-lidded eyes and Estel smiles gently. “You should sleep.” He tells him, but his only response is a hum, he turns away to focus on the water and when it boils, he sets about cleaning the soiled bandages. When he looks at Bereglass again, the elf is fast asleep, eyes tightly closed.</p><p>Estel does not sleep that night.</p>
<hr/><p>Estel wakes Bereglass soon after sunrise and presses a piece of grease cake into his good hand and leaves a cup of athelas tea sitting beside him. Bereglass frowns at the drink then at Estel in question.</p><p>“Medicine, you should drink it. It won’t put you to sleep. Though I think you’ll fall back to sleep soon, anyway.” Estel answers, pulling out his healing kit. “You need to eat and drink the tea, it has a pain killer in it and you’ll need that, since I’m going to be stitching your wounds when you’re finished.”</p><p>“You didn’t stitch them before?” Bereglass queries, around nibbles of the grease cake.</p><p>“There wasn’t time.” Estel answers, watching as Bereglass takes a curious sip of the tea, before making a pleased noise, Estel smirks. “It doesn’t taste horrible like ada’s teas.”</p><p>“I think Elrond just gets a kick out of forcing people to drink his disgusting concoctions.” Bereglass replies. Sipping at the drink, Estel can see when the pain killer kicks in, because the stress lines around the elf’s eyes lessen. “Let’s get this over with, then.” Bereglass says, when he’s finished his meager breakfast.</p><p>“Let’s.” Estel agrees, washing his hands before grabbing his kit and coming to sit beside the elf. He starts with the arm first, removing the bandage and peeling away the paste. Then, he uses pre-boiled water to clean the wound, apologising each time the elf flinches and tries to pull away. With the wound clean, he turns to the herbs. “Right, I’m not going to knock you out, but I’m going to numb the skin around the wound.” He explains, mixing up another paste and using a brush to gently brush the skin around the wound with it. When he’s sure it’s kicked in, he starts the process of removing any dead tissue and stitching the wound shut. By the time he’s finished and bandaging the arm, Bereglass has passed out.</p><p>He takes the time to sterilize his equipment and wash his hands and then he starts on the bigger wound.</p>
<hr/><p>Bereglass sleeps the rest of the day, Estel takes the time to walk near their campsite, picking more herbs including, he’s relieved to find, athelas and ensuring there aren’t any enemies nearby. He checks on Bereglass frequently while he does this, but the elf just continues sleeping the time away. Estel wakes him every now and then to give him water or athelas tea, or the grease cake, but otherwise lets him sleep.</p>
<hr/><p>When night falls, Estel wakes Bereglass and gives him more of grease cake and athelas tea, then he grins.</p><p>“So, your clothes are dry and warm, how much do you want to be clothed? And how much do you not want to be in pain?” he asks, laughing at the death glare Bereglass sends him. “Come on, I’ll help.”</p><p>The tunic turns out to be the easiest part. The sling is taken off so he can carefully manoeuvre the elf’s injured arm into his sleeve, since the elf had stubbornly refused to allow Estel to just rip the damn sleeve off. Once both sleeves are on, Estel re-applies the sling and sighs.</p><p>“Now the hard part.” He says, rolling his eyes at the grumble from Bereglass. What follows is a few tense minutes of Bereglass leaning against the tree, his bad arm clenching his middle, as he steps on shaking legs into the pants Estel holds for him. “Great and I don’t think you popped any of your stitches doing that, either.” Estel praises, gently helping the elf settle back down amongst the tree roots.</p><p>The cloak, Estel decides, they can put on later, for now it can be a blanket.</p><p>“Are we moving tomorrow?” Bereglass queries, his voice weary.</p><p>“That depends on how you’re feeling in the morning, mellon.” Estel answers, already knowing the elf will be eager to leave, even if they’re in so much pain they can barely breathe through it.</p><p>“Guess we’ll see.” Bereglass answers, but Estel can already hear the decision in his voice.</p><p>“Guess so.” He agrees, settling down to watch the fire.</p><p>“You should sleep, Estel.” Bereglass tempts him, but Estel frowns, looking across the water where he can just make out the outline of some of the giant spiders scurrying about in their nests. “The forest will protect us. Like it did the first night.” Bereglass promises, Estel consider his words before sighing and making himself comfortable.</p><p>He doesn’t expect to actually find sleep that night, but he does.</p>
<hr/><p>He wakes in the morning before Bereglass once again and sets about boiling water and packing up his things. When the water is boiled, he makes the athelas tea for Bereglass and wakes the elf, giving him the tea as well as a grease cake.</p><p>“This is about as thrilling to eat as lembas is after eating only that for a week.” Bereglass grumbles, but he eats the cake anyway, and sips happily at the tea.</p><p>“It’s better than starving. Or having to hunt for food.” Estel points out, nibbling his own cake. When he’s finished, he breaks up the camp and helps Bereglass put his cloak back on, then gently pulls the elf to his feet.</p><p>“We’re leaving?” Bereglass asks, with a raised eyebrow, Estel frowns at him.</p><p>“Are you wanting to stay?” he queries, but Bereglass is already shaking head.</p><p>“No. Let’s keep moving.” The elf mutters, pressing off from the tree and starting to trudge along the river’s edge. “We follow the river to the King’s Halls.”</p><p>“Agreed.”</p>
<hr/><p>They go slower than they did before, mainly because Estel refuses to let Bereglass push himself and pop his stitches. But they make progress, even if Bereglass isn’t happy about it when they set up camp for the night.</p><p>Estel lets him grumble and complain, then repeats it all the next day. He passes the time telling stories about the adventures he went on with his brothers and Legolas in the past.</p>
<hr/><p>On the fifth day, just as night is falling, they are close enough to the King’s Halls that even Estel recognizes where they are. Turning to look at Bereglass and assessing whether they can push on and make to the halls or whether they should break for camp.</p><p>He doesn’t get a chance to make his decision when he hears raised voices and a familiar figure appears out of the trees. Behind him, Bereglass collapses to his knees, a relieved and exhausted and pained sigh leaving him.</p><p>“Adar!” Legolas yells, rushing passed Estel and falling to his knees in front of Bereglass, shaking fingers reaching out to caress Bereglass’s face. “Adar.” Legolas whispers, before his eyes roam down to the blood and tears in Bereglass’s clothing, and the bandages peaking through. “You’re hurt.”</p><p>“I am well, ion nin.” Bereglass promises, reaching a hand up to gently brush Legolas’ hair out of his face. “I am well.”</p><p>“Bereglass, hmm?” Estel queries, a shocked laugh escaping him as he realizes his travelling companion and patient is none other than the famous Elven King, Thranduil. Thranduil grins at him, with mischief shining in his eyes.</p><p>“Oh! But would you have told me stories of my son if you knew who I was?” he queries, Estel doesn’t miss the way Legolas goes still, before his friend is turning on him with mutinous eyes.</p><p>“What <em>stories</em> have you been telling, <em>Estel</em>?!” he hisses, but Estel just hums.</p><p>“So, your father nearly bled out in the forest and-“</p><p>“<em>Adar!!”</em> Legolas exclaims, anxiously turning back to Thranduil, who takes his turn to glare mutinously at Estel, who sighs and accepts his fate.</p><p>“I’m fine, Legolas.” Thranduil assures, but his words fall on deaf ears as Legolas checks him over for any further injuries and, when he doesn’t find any, gently pulls his father along.</p><p>“We have to get you back to the halls.” Legolas mutters, all but dragging Thranduil along. Estel laughs and follows after them.</p><p>“Legolas, I’m offended by your faith in my healing abilities.” He calls after the elves, but Legolas just swears at him in Sindarin while Thranduil clucks his tongue disapprovingly.</p>
<hr/><p>Securing Thranduil’s permission to come and go from the forest as he pleases turns out to be easiest part of his entire journey.</p><p>Who would have thought?</p>
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